I loved that job! Got to play with all kinds of machinery. Had a fire fighting vehicle...from your neck of the woods ygmir...that was built on a tank chassis. Had a hydraulic leak, so didn't get to play with it as much as I wanted.

TomServo wrote:I loved that job! Got to play with all kinds of machinery. Had a fire fighting vehicle...from your neck of the woods ygmir...that was built on a tank chassis. Had a hydraulic leak, so didn't get to play with it as much as I wanted.

In my own defense I didn't know the lil' lady had parked it there, and I was already sliding good by the time I saw it. If I had more experience (like now) I would have dropped the blade and/or popped the clutches instead of freezing up. Live and learn. Plus the story is almost worth the repair bill.

There was a time in my life (many times really) when depression beat me so far down deep into a pit of such dark black hopeless despair, that I used to really think and believe that the only other option for me was death. It's an ugly ugly awful awful place to be. I've lost count of how many suicide attempts there have been in my life. This one in particular was 3 years back. It involved way too many bottles of prescription drugs, 2 bottles of wine, a 6-pack of beer, a half a box of kleenex, and a very sharp exacto knife. At the time, my reasons were many. I saw no way out of my pain. So I cried, drank, ate the pills, cried, drank, ate the pills, wash, lather, rinse, repeat... I didn't plan on hurting myself that day. Something just kinda took over. I snapped. I saw the craft knife in the pencil jar, took it into my hand, and sat on the kitchen floor for about an hour with it, continuing my crying/drinking/popping pills. The world took on a surreal feel and I began just cutting small little cuts.....at first. For people with squeamish stomachs, for people who get angry and judgemental, and for people who just don't have a clue about insanity, go on to another thread now. Don't bother me with statements about how selfish it is to attempt suicide. I've heard it ALL. I had never cut before. It was actually quite a "release". The cutting felt good. I watched the blood. I felt all that beautiful adrenaline totally fill me up. Insanity, you say? Yes. I'd have to say so. And then I just did it. FUCK IT, I thought. And in 3 very quick swipes I tore my arm open. Then I stopped crying. It didn't hurt anymore. Freedom would be mine soon. Then I got this insanely artistic idea to paint my mother's kitchen with my blood. I felt divinely mad. Out of my mind. I don't remember the rest. I woke up the next day strapped to a bed in a hospital. I was alive? Gawd, was I fucking pissed! I spent 2 weeks in a place with really crazy people. Turned out to be the best place I could have ever gone to. I wondered, tho, who the fuck had found me. I was so mad. Here's the Lucky Part. Apparently I called a friend in Alabama. I'll call him Bob. I lived in NC. I had recently moved. No one knew my new address or phone number. Apparently I had called Bob to say Goodbye and told him I was Sorry I was Dead. Then I hung up. Bob called everyone. Couldn't get anywhere. So he calls the Alabama 911. Alabama 911 calls NC 911. NC 911 does something on their computers and the ONLY way they were able to find out where I had moved to was because one week prior I had gotten a DUI. That's not why I tried to kill myself.

I'm lucky to have friends that love me no matter what. I'm lucky and grateful for the cop who pulled me over and gave me a DUI. I'm lucky and grateful (now) that I was found. I've made my amends and apologies. I've gotten help. Suicide is no longer an option. A lot of things I used to do are no longer options for me. I help others. I do service work and volunteer in my community now, which really helps me more than it does others if you ask me. Call me lucky. Call me stupid. Whatever. I live. I learn. Now I really live. Someday I gotta tell my mom I'm sorry about painting her kitchen in blood.

Monkeypoo wrote:There was a time in my life (many times really) when depression beat me so far down deep into a pit of such dark black hopeless despair, that I used to really think and believe that the only other option for me was death. It's an ugly ugly awful awful place to be. I've lost count of how many suicide attempts there have been in my life. This one in particular was 3 years back. It involved way too many bottles of prescription drugs, 2 bottles of wine, a 6-pack of beer, a half a box of kleenex, and a very sharp exacto knife. At the time, my reasons were many. I saw no way out of my pain. So I cried, drank, ate the pills, cried, drank, ate the pills, wash, lather, rinse, repeat... I didn't plan on hurting myself that day. Something just kinda took over. I snapped. I saw the craft knife in the pencil jar, took it into my hand, and sat on the kitchen floor for about an hour with it, continuing my crying/drinking/popping pills. The world took on a surreal feel and I began just cutting small little cuts.....at first. For people with squeamish stomachs, for people who get angry and judgemental, and for people who just don't have a clue about insanity, go on to another thread now. Don't bother me with statements about how selfish it is to attempt suicide. I've heard it ALL. I had never cut before. It was actually quite a "release". The cutting felt good. I watched the blood. I felt all that beautiful adrenaline totally fill me up. Insanity, you say? Yes. I'd have to say so. And then I just did it. FUCK IT, I thought. And in 3 very quick swipes I tore my arm open. Then I stopped crying. It didn't hurt anymore. Freedom would be mine soon. Then I got this insanely artistic idea to paint my mother's kitchen with my blood. I felt divinely mad. Out of my mind. I don't remember the rest. I woke up the next day strapped to a bed in a hospital. I was alive? Gawd, was I fucking pissed! I spent 2 weeks in a place with really crazy people. Turned out to be the best place I could have ever gone to. I wondered, tho, who the fuck had found me. I was so mad. Here's the Lucky Part. Apparently I called a friend in Alabama. I'll call him Bob. I lived in NC. I had recently moved. No one knew my new address or phone number. Apparently I had called Bob to say Goodbye and told him I was Sorry I was Dead. Then I hung up. Bob called everyone. Couldn't get anywhere. So he calls the Alabama 911. Alabama 911 calls NC 911. NC 911 does something on their computers and the ONLY way they were able to find out where I had moved to was because one week prior I had gotten a DUI. That's not why I tried to kill myself.

I'm lucky to have friends that love me no matter what. I'm lucky and grateful for the cop who pulled me over and gave me a DUI. I'm lucky and grateful (now) that I was found. I've made my amends and apologies. I've gotten help. Suicide is no longer an option. A lot of things I used to do are no longer options for me. I help others. I do service work and volunteer in my community now, which really helps me more than it does others if you ask me. Call me lucky. Call me stupid. Whatever. I live. I learn. Now I really live. Someday I gotta tell my mom I'm sorry about painting her kitchen in blood.

I was never a cutter...I liked to burn or brand myself. As far as suicide goes, everytime the thought pops in my head, I remember the muzzle flash from my AK going off in my face. It was, sort of, a slap in the face. After I got out of jail, life seemed soo much sweeter!

I took my wifes Jeep Liberty, its was about 2:15am, still dark, highway 50 from Mound House to Carson City was wet with some slush from the light snow earlier.
I didn't have the highbeams on, I'm doing around 40-45 in 55 zone in the number 2 lane, and about 100' in front I see a large dark object jerk up. I applied the the brakes and swerved left, missing by my guess about 10 to 15 feet, two wild horses that were, I'm guessing licking the salt off the road.
At least they were standing in said lane, it won't surprise me one bit if one got hit a few minutes later as there are bars and haha houses in Mound House.

My cats are cuter than your grandkids!

"Government is not the solution to our problems, government is the problem." Ronald Reagan

The photo doesn't show how effective these are in use when well aimed.

The situation described is especially difficult, but the euro low beams are typically more useful than a usa high beam.
There are many choices for driving lights now.
Quality matters for driving lights too.
Your best bang for the buck is always the low beams though.

There are even more advanced lighting sytems now, but they are more difficult and costly to retrofit.
Some have city and country modes.

Thecatman wrote:I just took a look at yahoo images at European headlights.Is that type of headlight available for a Jeep?

Yes, but with all the custom headlights, even euro code can vary in effectiveness.
Any vehicle sold in europe by the factory will have a factory set, easy for european cars, less common for american.
Jeep, camaro, vette, etc are usually exported.
There are aftermarket too.

My personal choice is to retrofit the industrial line lights, a known quantity and easy to install.
But the old sealed beam conversions are a known quantity and the easiest to use.
The 7" is the most effective and well known, but other sizes are available.

A bumper mounted housing is the simplest way to use these.
Some lights are available in the housings, though some take some searching.
Many are sold in the usa as offroad, truck and motorcycle lights.
HID versions are available too.
The rectangular can be used to match lower profile cars.
Housings are available or they can be fitted into the original space, with some work.

I have a source (and some rare catalogs) for ALL hella lamps from europe at a good price.
None are returnable, when imported this way.
Half the cost is the importation, but still reasonable.
Even the leveling systems are available.
It is possible to order direct and sometimes used.
The old truck lamps are massive 13" x 9" and not expensive.
The truck projector lamps are easy to install, available low, high and fog matching and quartz or HID.

Cibie and IPF are generally considered the best types.
Cibie has a better pattern for curving roads.
Hella is very inexpensive generally though.

,,,I'm lucky to have friends that love me no matter what. I'm lucky and grateful for the cop who pulled me over and gave me a DUI.

Thank you for sharing this Monkeypoo. It just goes to show that whether it's a DUI, a flat tire or something else that seems an interruption in life at the time that there just might be a divine providence at work.

I know many of you piss on the notion, I'm simply too much an optimist to consider my life not worth living. I believe we all have a purpose and there is no such thing as luck.

I do recall one rainy night when the road was wet and seemed to just soak up the light from my truck. My brother and I had been fishing. While driving home, we blew right past a black angus in the middle of the road. We did not even realize it was there until we went by it. I swear my mirror must have ruffled its hair. Now that's a fuggin' rush!

I should mention that lamps marketed as euro or euro look are not necessarily euro code or ECE headlights.
They have an E on the lens, with the exception of some knockoffs that may be decent.
USA lamps have the dot marking.
There is a lot of crap out there that is just not useful.

Ask where lamps were made.
There are knockoffs even with brand names.
I found Zelmot from poland in a usa truck catalog.
Good quality actually.

Monkeypoo wrote:There was a time in my life (many times really) when depression beat me so far down deep into a pit of such dark black hopeless despair, that I used to really think and believe that the only other option for me was death. It's an ugly ugly awful awful place to be. I've lost count of how many suicide attempts there have been in my life. This one in particular was 3 years back. It involved way too many bottles of prescription drugs, 2 bottles of wine, a 6-pack of beer, a half a box of kleenex, and a very sharp exacto knife. At the time, my reasons were many. I saw no way out of my pain. So I cried, drank, ate the pills, cried, drank, ate the pills, wash, lather, rinse, repeat... I didn't plan on hurting myself that day. Something just kinda took over. I snapped. I saw the craft knife in the pencil jar, took it into my hand, and sat on the kitchen floor for about an hour with it, continuing my crying/drinking/popping pills. The world took on a surreal feel and I began just cutting small little cuts.....at first. For people with squeamish stomachs, for people who get angry and judgemental, and for people who just don't have a clue about insanity, go on to another thread now. Don't bother me with statements about how selfish it is to attempt suicide. I've heard it ALL. I had never cut before. It was actually quite a "release". The cutting felt good. I watched the blood. I felt all that beautiful adrenaline totally fill me up. Insanity, you say? Yes. I'd have to say so. And then I just did it. FUCK IT, I thought. And in 3 very quick swipes I tore my arm open. Then I stopped crying. It didn't hurt anymore. Freedom would be mine soon. Then I got this insanely artistic idea to paint my mother's kitchen with my blood. I felt divinely mad. Out of my mind. I don't remember the rest. I woke up the next day strapped to a bed in a hospital. I was alive? Gawd, was I fucking pissed! I spent 2 weeks in a place with really crazy people. Turned out to be the best place I could have ever gone to. I wondered, tho, who the fuck had found me. I was so mad. Here's the Lucky Part. Apparently I called a friend in Alabama. I'll call him Bob. I lived in NC. I had recently moved. No one knew my new address or phone number. Apparently I had called Bob to say Goodbye and told him I was Sorry I was Dead. Then I hung up. Bob called everyone. Couldn't get anywhere. So he calls the Alabama 911. Alabama 911 calls NC 911. NC 911 does something on their computers and the ONLY way they were able to find out where I had moved to was because one week prior I had gotten a DUI. That's not why I tried to kill myself.

I'm lucky to have friends that love me no matter what. I'm lucky and grateful for the cop who pulled me over and gave me a DUI. I'm lucky and grateful (now) that I was found. I've made my amends and apologies. I've gotten help. Suicide is no longer an option. A lot of things I used to do are no longer options for me. I help others. I do service work and volunteer in my community now, which really helps me more than it does others if you ask me. Call me lucky. Call me stupid. Whatever. I live. I learn. Now I really live. Someday I gotta tell my mom I'm sorry about painting her kitchen in blood.

my dad commited suicide everytime i hear a story like this i think i wish u had called him when i got the urge 15 minutes before he did it. instead of getting home 6 hours later and sitting in front of the phone till it rang.
strangely it hasn't changed my view on suicide until i started posting on here (eplaya) i thought about it daily gradually getting more serious in my planning how to do it.
Its the people here and how they help each other, love and care for one another AND ACTUALLY GIVE A SHIT FOR THEIR FELLOW MAN with no personal gain that made realise going on to the next step isn't necessarily the best move.
sorry i've wanted to share that for a while and not known how. its a long a rambling story (like most of mine) but i got a warning to call him and didn't. it hurts daily nearly 10 years later

FREE THE SHERPASBurners with torches is right and natural and just.-fishy.CATCH AND RELEASE.

Monkeypoo wrote:There was a time in my life (many times really) when depression beat me so far down deep into a pit of such dark black hopeless despair, that I used to really think and believe that the only other option for me was death. It's an ugly ugly awful awful place to be. I've lost count of how many suicide attempts there have been in my life. This one in particular was 3 years back. It involved way too many bottles of prescription drugs, 2 bottles of wine, a 6-pack of beer, a half a box of kleenex, and a very sharp exacto knife. At the time, my reasons were many. I saw no way out of my pain. So I cried, drank, ate the pills, cried, drank, ate the pills, wash, lather, rinse, repeat... I didn't plan on hurting myself that day. Something just kinda took over. I snapped. I saw the craft knife in the pencil jar, took it into my hand, and sat on the kitchen floor for about an hour with it, continuing my crying/drinking/popping pills. The world took on a surreal feel and I began just cutting small little cuts.....at first. For people with squeamish stomachs, for people who get angry and judgemental, and for people who just don't have a clue about insanity, go on to another thread now. Don't bother me with statements about how selfish it is to attempt suicide. I've heard it ALL. I had never cut before. It was actually quite a "release". The cutting felt good. I watched the blood. I felt all that beautiful adrenaline totally fill me up. Insanity, you say? Yes. I'd have to say so. And then I just did it. FUCK IT, I thought. And in 3 very quick swipes I tore my arm open. Then I stopped crying. It didn't hurt anymore. Freedom would be mine soon. Then I got this insanely artistic idea to paint my mother's kitchen with my blood. I felt divinely mad. Out of my mind. I don't remember the rest. I woke up the next day strapped to a bed in a hospital. I was alive? Gawd, was I fucking pissed! I spent 2 weeks in a place with really crazy people. Turned out to be the best place I could have ever gone to. I wondered, tho, who the fuck had found me. I was so mad. Here's the Lucky Part. Apparently I called a friend in Alabama. I'll call him Bob. I lived in NC. I had recently moved. No one knew my new address or phone number. Apparently I had called Bob to say Goodbye and told him I was Sorry I was Dead. Then I hung up. Bob called everyone. Couldn't get anywhere. So he calls the Alabama 911. Alabama 911 calls NC 911. NC 911 does something on their computers and the ONLY way they were able to find out where I had moved to was because one week prior I had gotten a DUI. That's not why I tried to kill myself.

I'm lucky to have friends that love me no matter what. I'm lucky and grateful for the cop who pulled me over and gave me a DUI. I'm lucky and grateful (now) that I was found. I've made my amends and apologies. I've gotten help. Suicide is no longer an option. A lot of things I used to do are no longer options for me. I help others. I do service work and volunteer in my community now, which really helps me more than it does others if you ask me. Call me lucky. Call me stupid. Whatever. I live. I learn. Now I really live. Someday I gotta tell my mom I'm sorry about painting her kitchen in blood.

my dad commited suicide everytime i hear a story like this i think i wish u had called him when i got the urge 15 minutes before he did it. instead of getting home 6 hours later and sitting in front of the phone till it rang.strangely it hasn't changed my view on suicide until i started posting on here (eplaya) i thought about it daily gradually getting more serious in my planning how to do it.Its the people here and how they help each other, love and care for one another AND ACTUALLY GIVE A SHIT FOR THEIR FELLOW MAN with no personal gain that made realise going on to the next step isn't necessarily the best move. sorry i've wanted to share that for a while and not known how. its a long a rambling story (like most of mine) but i got a warning to call him and didn't. it hurts daily nearly 10 years later

Regrets are the very devil, and being blameless will not spare you. But yes: we care. There are good people in this world, fun interesting enthusiastic generous beautiful people who can hold each other up when we start to wobble. And that is how and why we survive.

(((graidawg)))

(((Monkeypoo)))

(((all a y'all)))

Figjam you get a pinch!

"Burning Man ruined my life as I knew it, and I have never been happier." -mgb327

we were using my crane to lift the camper onto the firetruck, to see if and how it fit, to see if I could take it to the playa this year..........pretty heavy, about 2500 lbs. I was reaching out about 20' with the crane, to grab it.I had my friend, on top, to hook the straps (2) (10K rated 2" ratchet straps) into the hook first to test balance before "the lift".He did so, we estimated "center of balance" and, started the lift. Well, we missed our guess, as it came up favoring the front much faster. So, set back on stands, loosen, adjust pick point rearward, and try again.Vwhala!! it came up fairly level, certainly good enough to be stable for swing and set.So, I suggested everyone move away as I swing toward the firetruck. As they did, I began the lift in earnest.and,Bang!!! One end of the camper drops (about a foot) back onto the stand, knocking it over, the jack legs are driven into the ground about a foot, and, all comes to a screeching halt!!!Dang. WTF?

Well, it was obvious, one of the straps broke.So lucky, everyone had moved a safe distance away, since as it was falling and such, it was swinging wildly.Luckily, I was able to hold with the strap that remained, and also luckily, the one that broke was the one where the jacks were still attached and lowered.

As I climbed down to survey damage, my helper states: " I wondered if that strap was going to hold"I say: "Huh"?Helper: "yeah, when I was hooking it up, I noticed there was a big cut in that strap"

HWTF!!! says me.

me: "and you hooked it up, anyway, not to mention not saying anything?"Helper: "well............"..............

I supposed it's all ok, nothing was badly damaged, some dents in the camper, but, not bad.I'm so happy, though, it didn't fall or tip on anyone, and, also happy no damage was done.

I went back up, on the roof myself, and re-hooked, with a new strap............

that reminds me of when i was changing out the light in our bathroom ( we have a fuse box that is not labeled ) i ask my daughter to tell me when the light went out... first fuse i removed she yelled "it's out"....., i didn't find out she had just flipped the switch until I grabbed the live wire....ouch.

I got fuel yesterday, and for some unknown reason, set my wallet on the side rail of my truck........drove 250 miles over some of the twisty-est, bumpy mountain roads........This morning, I couldn't find my wallet........yikes! and, didn't remember setting on the truck. Went, out, and looked in my tool box. Nothing, but, noticed, it, where it had miraculously fallen into the bed, into a bucket, in the back of my pickup........dang.